


Circumstances Are Different

by Fenris13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ALL OF IT, AU, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, I need to write it first, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Pre-Slash, all of the fluff, as is the rating, for now, help help I'm being enabled, these tags are liable to change as the story progresses, we'll see though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenris13/pseuds/Fenris13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wish circumstances were different."</p>
<p>"I wish I was human and you and I met at the grocery store. I wish you asked for my number and I wrote it down on your arm."</p>
<p>In which Dean is not a hunter, Castiel is not an angel, Sam is not the vessel of Lucifer, and Mary Winchester died in a car crash on the way to Sam's dentist appointment when he was twelve years old. In which two boys did not lose their mother to a demon, were not taught to hunt from an early age, and did not suffer betrayal at the hands of those they trusted most. In which an angel did not storm the gates of Hell to retrieve the soul of the Righteous Man, did not fall for the cause of the Righteous Man, and was not forced to betray the Righteous Man. In which none of these tumultuous and supernatural events take place.</p>
<p>In which circumstances are different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circumstances Are Different

Dean purses his lips as he glares at the selection of foods in the refrigerated aisle of the local QFC.

Ice cream, ice cream, popsicles, more ice cream, frozen pizzas, admittedly tempting tiramisu, but as far as he could see, no pie. There’s not even cherry pie, and that’s a staple of grocers everywhere. Condensation on the glass pools together into fat droplets, taunting him as they slide past the pie-less shelves. He’s growing desperate. Hell, he already _was_ desperate. The lack of pie at the bakery had driven him to the ‘take-it-home-and-heat-it-yourself’ pies, but even here there were none to be found. He considers picking up the ingredients to make a pie from scratch but he knows he doesn’t have the time tonight. Sam’s flight will be coming in at five fifteen and Dean still hasn’t cleared out the guest bedroom for him. It will take at least an hour to reach the airport if traffic is good, which it never is, and it’s getting close to two.

With a mournful sigh he pushes on, the wheels of his shopping cart squealing in protest. He really had been looking forward to sharing pie with Sam when he got home. Maybe he can grab a cake or something. It’s not as good as pie--nothing will ever be as good as pie--but Sam likes it well enough.

He’s just turning the corner for the bakery when there’s a sharp, jangling crash of metal and a short cry of surprise. Dean feels the impact run up his arms, and he jerks to a stop with an apology on his lips that dies in the air when he lifts his head to see the most gorgeous set of blue eyes he has ever seen in a man’s face.

The man in question is apologizing as well, even though it was Dean who wasn’t paying attention, and when he returns Dean stare without looking twice Dean feels the urge to introduce himself, all thoughts of Sam forgotten.

“My apologies, I didn’t see you there,” he’s saying, and Dean just keeps staring, his mouth working without results.

He clears his throat to stall for time so his brain can reboot, and manages to get out, “No problem, man, it was my fault.”

“Are you alright?” The man says, and he sounds so genuinely _concerned_ in that scratchy-smoke voice of his that Dean can only smile helplessly.

“Yeah, no- uh, no problem.”

They keep staring for another ten tense seconds before Blue-Eyes smiles small and polite then maneuvers his cart out of the way, Dean abortively pulling back in an attempt to help, and back down the aisle. Dean watches him leave, transfixed, and can’t help the odd feeling that he’s letting something vastly, world-shatteringly important slip by. He pushes his basket back toward the bakery and slowly turns his head away.

Upon reaching the bakery, he distractedly peruses the pre-made cakes, trying to get his brain back on track about Sam, his flight, where he’ll put everything in the spare room, what they’ll do tomorrow to celebrate Sam’s making it through to winter break and somehow landing a girlfriend way out of his league, but he fails miserably. Somehow he finds himself thinking instead of Blue-Eyes and his ten yard stare, how it had felt like he hadn’t been looking _through_ Dean so much as _into_ him. Like he’d seen something, someone, that had sparked interest and deserved closer observation, like he’d seen a person instead of a stranger, the tangle of their carts a short meeting of two people instead of an annoyance. It had been a while since anyone had looked at Dean like that, like his time meant something.

Exasperated, Dean just grabs the closest cake at hand, not really caring if it was chocolate or vanilla or had funfetti or _whatever_. He needed to get out of this store before he wasted anymore time and had to explain to Sam why it is he was sleeping in a room with all of Dean’s old pin-up posters and little league trophies.

He went to the checkout station, pulling into the shortest looking line of three equally long lines, and pulled his wallet of out his pocket in preparation. He glanced idly about the store, not thinking about Blue-Eyes, taking note of the holiday decorations that were spread across the displays and the fact that, upon further inspection, his cake had a god-awful moose trying to be a reindeer on it that said “Happy Holidays!” in painfully bright red text against a clashing green background. He winced and considered going back to get something different, but decided against it when someone pulled in behind him. He glanced back at them, a cursory glance simply to take note of the motion, and had to give a quick smile to hide his double take when he saw it was Blue-Eyes again.

Blue-Eyes nodded and smiled back, another small, polite one that barely constituted a twitch of the lips. Dean tried not to let his eyes linger too long on that smile. After yet another ten, tense seconds of staring, Dean decided to do something.

He held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Dean.”

Blue-Eyes leaned forward to clasp it in a strong, comfortable grip. “Castiel.”

“Castiel.” Dean tried the strange name out on his tongue. It was weird, but it had a nice ring to it. He smiled a little wider; Blue-Eyes now had a name. “Sorry about earlier, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Castiel only shook his head.

“It was no trouble, and you were not the only--”

“Don’t even start that, man, we could be playing the blame game forever. I just hope I didn’t break any of your groceries.” Dean glances down at the contents of Castiel’s cart to assess the damage, though by now he would have taken care of any damaged goods. However, again Dean finds himself doing a double take, because in this glorious man’s basket are the ingredients for cherry pie, made from scratch.

“Oh my god, are you making pie?” Dean blurts. Castiel blinks and Dean flushes, trying to backtrack. “I, uh, sorry, I just--uh. Have a thing. For pie.”

Castiel continues to stare at him and Dean panics a little. “Not like, in a creepy way, or--! No, shit, I mean I like pie as a desert, it’s the best pastry ever invented by man, I mean, I would make it myself but my little brother is coming home from California tonight and I still need to clean out my guest room and the store doesn’t have it and I don’t have time to make it and, wow this is weird. I think I’ll stop talking now.” Dean scrapes a hand through his hair and glares at his shoes, certain that his cheeks are a fine shade of scarlet.

“Yes, I am.” There is an amused lilt to Castiel’s voice, and Dean glances up at him to see a small smile and twinkling eyes. “Making pie, that is. I have a thing. For pie.”

Dean grins back and feels a sense of relief, the kind that comes from knowing you just made an ass of yourself but the person you’re talking to doesn't mind. “We should hang out sometime,” Dean says. “Can I give you my number?”

Castiel nods, still smiling. “I’d like that.” He hesitates, and the corners of his mouth twitched in annoyance. “Though I don’t own a cell phone, and I don’t have a pen.”

Dean searches his pockets and comes up with a black sharpie, though nothing else. He uncaps it and gestures toward Castiel. “Here, I can write it on your arm, if that’s okay...?”

Castiel rolls up his sleeve and offers up the pale skin as a writing surface. Quickly Dean jots down his name and number in the most legible script he can manage, careful not to smudge it and blowing lightly on the ink to dry it until he realizes that doing so is a bit flirtatious and a lot weird and backs off. Castiel motions for Dean to hand him the pen, and Dean rolls up his own sleeve in turn. Castiel writes in a short, curving script “Castiel Novak: 867/5309”, and Dean assumes Castiel’s area code is the same as his own. He doesn't feel as weird about blowing on Castiel’s arm to dry the ink when he does it for Dean right back, light and lukewarm.

“Awesome,” Dean says as he admires his new body art. “I’ll give you a call later, yeah?”

“After you and your brother settle in,” Castiel agrees. 

They’re all geared up for another round of pleased staring when the checkout girl calls out “Next!”, all fake cheer and ready for her lunch break. Dean starts, and pushes his basket up to the counter to place his groceries on the black belt. After his groceries are bagged and paid for, he waves to Castiel and starts backing toward the exit, still facing him.

“I’ll see you around, Cas!” He says, loudly enough that his voice carries, and Castiel looks up with a surprised smile and a wave of his own.

“See you later, Dean.” And Dean grins then turns around to walk out the automatic sliding doors, heading for his car. Even if he has a horrifically embarrassing holiday cake in his bag instead of pie, which Sam will undoubtedly mock him for, Dean feels good. Really good. Maybe he didn’t let it--whatever it was--slip away after all.

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO  
> This was inspired by a beautiful piece of taggery on tumblr from forever and a month ago, and the idea for this fic/verse has been kicking around in my head since. I plan on covering all of the scenarios described in the tags, and possibly delving into it a little more? I'm not sure as of yet since this is only the beginning. Right now, it'll just be fluff-fest everywhere, human au where everyone is happy and nothing hurts. I'll most likely follow a time stamp format, with short little vignettes about Dean and Castiel's relationship and no real, gritty story to speak of. Maybe. It's hard to tell anything at all this early in the game. I MIGHT EVEN DROP IT haha Ireallyhopenot


End file.
